Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Guest Post: Touched by A.J. Aalto

I write paranormal mysteries loaded with oodles of snark for a
reason. If I ever decide to write a romance novel, someone remind me not to
write a romance novel. I am woefully ill-equipped.

Let me take you back seventeen looooooong years. I met my
husband, the Viking, in some biology class or other, though which type of biology
it was escapes me now (It
couldn’t have been bio-ethics, because I have no ethics and figured that course
would be a waste of my time.). Our romance went like this:

Me: Hey, where the hell have you been?

Viking: Uh, have we met?

Me: Yes, you’re the guy who sits beside me. Park it.

Viking: But I sit over there…

Me: Not any more. I broke up with my boyfriend, and you’re my
rebound guy.

Viking: I am?

Me: Yes. Or, if you prefer, I could call you the Jungle Gym. Or
the Playground. Or Spankmonkey. Or, hey, why don’t I make up something dirty?
*scribbles some suggestions on the cover of notebook and shows him*

Viking: Jesus! *stunned blink, sits with a thud* May I ask, why
me?

Me: Because I said so. Look, this really isn’t going to work for
me if you keep running your fat yap.

Viking: What’s your name?

Me: Can I make one up?

Viking: No.

Me: Then it’s Brenda.

Viking: Why do I think that’s a lie?

Me: I can’t be a Brenda? How am I not a Brenda?

Viking: You’re a strange little woman.

Me: Might just wanna shut up and enjoy your three days,
Spankmonkey.

Viking: I get three days?

Me: Well, sure. How long do you figure it should take me to get
over that dillhole?

Viking: Depends how long you dated him?

Me: Two years.

Viking: You think you can mend a broken heart in three days?

Me: Broken heart? What are you, mental? I have a minor dent in
my fairly formidable Ego-Construct. I might be all better by the end of the
day, but I’ll keep you around three full days just in case.

I know, it’s very romantic. Or maybe not. I probably wouldn’t
know romance if it shot me in the eye. Three days became seventeen years, but
certainly not because of my romantic skills. Anyways, when
we met, the Viking claimed to be a scientist. He isn’t. He lied. I have proof.

This week, the Viking has been pillaged & plundered by a
nasty flu. When he coughs, I feel like I’m in an episode of Loony Tunes where
the dragon hacks and all four walls of the castle fall down. In
biochemistry lab, our lab guy would yell at any coughing/sneezing people: “AIM
IT AT THE FLOOR!” because if you touched your face with those nasty,
contaminated gloves you were wearing, you were liable to wind up with some fun
version of the Green Apple Two-Step that would leave you bleeding from orifices
you didn’t know you had. I have spent all week barking at the Viking to “AIM IT
AT THE FLOOR!” or at least cough into his elbow like they teach the school kids
to do now. This is proper lab procedure and anyone with a science background is
hyper-aware of germs and bugs and chemicals and the dangers of
cross-contamination.

Guess who hasn’t been aiming it at the floor? Him. And guess
who’s sick now? Oh, I’ll give you a hint. She’s wee, and surly, and generally
homicidal even when she’s in a good mood. *glare*

My fake-scientist husband
has some ‘splainin’ to do.

TouchedThe Marnie Baranuik Files, Book OneBy A. J. Aalto

Synopsis:

The media has a nickname for Marnie Baranuik, though she’d rather they didn't; they call her the Great White Shark, a rare dual-talented forensic psychic. Twice-Touched by the Blue Sense--which gives her the ability to feel the emotions of others, and read impressions left behind on objects--Marnie also has a doctorate in preternatural biology and a working knowledge of the dark arts. She is considered without peer in the psychic community.

Then her first big FBI case ended with a bullet in one shoulder and a chip on the other, a queasy heart and a serial killer in the wind, leaving her a public flop and a private wreck. When the FBI’s preternatural crimes unit tracks her down at a remote mountain lodge for her insight on a local case, her quiet retirement is promptly besieged by a stab-happy starlet, a rampaging ghoul, and a vampire-hunting jackass in tight Wranglers. Marnie figures the only real mystery is which one will kill her first.

Too mean to die young, backed up by friends in cold places, and running with a mouth as demure as a cannon’s blast, Marnie Baranuik is about to discover that there’s no such thing as quitting time when you’re Touched.

AJ Aalto is the author of Touched, first in the paranormal mystery series The Marnie Baranuik Files. Aalto is an unrepentant liar and a writer of blathering nonsense offset by factual gore. When not working on her novels, you can find her singing old Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking her eye doctor, or failing at one of her many fruitless hobbies. Generally a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a particular weak spot for smug pseudo-intellectuals and narcissistic jerks; readers will find her work littered with dark, imperfect creatures, flawed monsters and oodles of snark. AJ cannot say no to a Snickers bar, and has been known to swallow her gum.